Rubber Game
by theSilverChef
Summary: Mike and Connie play a little baseball in his office... sort of.  Post "Brilliant Disguise."


_**Disclaimer: Dick Wolf owns these characters, not me. **_

_**AN: Another episode-inspired piece. Vacation from school always results in L&O marathons... and in this case, an episode of the X-files as well.**_

**_This takes place in season 20. There's a slight lack of continuity between "Brilliant Disguise" and "Innocence", so for the sake of my story, we're going to pretend that the two flow together nicely. Enjoy!_**

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><p>One moment—a touch, a single word, maybe a look—can change everything.<p>

It was a on Friday morning that Mike uttered the damaging words. "You know, when I tell _my_ people to jump? They jump. Like, Ms. Rubirosa here—I once ordered her to use her attractiveness to influence a juror, and she did."

It was a on Friday afternoon that Connie left for the weekend without saying goodbye. It was on a Saturday that she ignored his text message and again on a Sunday.

It was on a Monday morning that she decided to speak to him and a Monday afternoon that she agreed to bury the hatchet. "Listen, I get it. It's okay. Whatever it takes to win, right?"

It was a Monday evening that altered their partnership forever. They were in Mike's office, discussing the events from that day: a guilty verdict for a sociopathic murderer and the likelihood of the same verdict for the perpetrator of a hate crime. Mike's cross-examination of Cedric Stuber's mother appeared to be the nail in the coffin, but both he and Connie knew that there was never an _assured_ win. Their dialog was amicable, but a palpable tension remained between them.

Mike felt an unfamiliar and crippling guilt for using Connie as bait, yet again. He was a master of ruses and tricks to obtain a conviction, and he had no qualms about toeing the ethical line. However, he found that the thought of hurting his colleague's feelings actually _bothered_ him. Who was he kidding? A case from a few months before had forced him to address the fact that she wasn't a colleague at all, but rather the target of his solitude and desire.

Connie's demeanor was cautious. There were fleeting instances where it seemed that Mike wasn't so bad—that his heart was in the right place. But for every two steps forward, he'd take a giant leap backward with an ignorant remark or inconsiderate action. Even the enticing appearance of his mussed up hair, untucked white shirt, and lack of a tie couldn't distract her from the fact that working with Mike was like bowling with bombs. It was a grueling, full-time job that offered no hope for respite or escape.

She stood a few feet from his desk, toying with the bat that he kept propped against the wall near the side door. "Why do you even have this thing? Actually, the more fitting question is how'd they let you past security? This is technically a weapon."

Mike rose from his chair. "It helps me think…and unwind."

"You know, most people would buy a stress ball or hire a masseuse... or drink," Connie teased, examining the ridged, wooden surface more carefully. "This seems… heavy and inefficient."

"Here, I'll show you." His blue eyes sought permission to cross into her personal territory. She shrugged and allowed him to move behind her. "First of all: you're right handed, so left hand goes on the bottom."

She nodded and obliged his request.

"Other hand on top. Your knuckles should form a straight, continuous line." She tensed up as his rough fingers slid across her right hand, enclosing it in is own around the neck of the bat. "Now, relax. Keep your grip firm, but fingers loose. You get me?"

She smirked and signaled comprehension.

"Good. Now, keep the bat at about this height… Good. Okay, you want this elbow close to your body and-…" His other hand clasped her wrist, guiding her arms back, then up, and then down in a slight diagonal curve.

With each practice swing, he inched closer to her body. She prayed that he was being mindful of the lamp, boxes, trinkets, and tables that crowded their surroundings, because her concentration had been rendered ineffective and practically nonexistent. When the buckle of his belt scraped across the wool fabric of her skirt, she felt a fire radiate from her abdomen, down her legs and up her torso, consuming her entirely. Her thoughts blurred with panic, yearning, and a muddle of 50 other emotions. The rapid beat of her telltale heart thundered in her ears, while he focused on the symphony of staccato breaths, the waltzing clock, and the notes of the City outside.

"Do you feel that?" the heat of his whisper seared her skin. "The worries just…melt…away…"

She snaked out of his restraint and turned to face him. His eyes were lustful, but timid. They were suddenly alone on the brink of a perilous and destructive enterprise. The rational, respectable side of her screamed for consideration, but her devil-may-care curiosity garnered the victory. She hooked Mike's disheveled collar in her grasp and slowly guided his lips toward hers. The bat hit the floor with a soft _clunk_, and the dithering flames roared into a full-blown inferno. The kiss intensified with each passing second. Mike surrendered, collapsing against his desk. Connie leaned into him, their bodies forming a passionate and animated buttress.

The boom of Jack's voice in the hallway tore them apart. Connie self-consciously dabbed at her swollen lips and tugged at the hem of her fitted knit jacket. Mike retrieved the fallen bat and attempted to get rid of the evidence of their indiscretion, muttering expletives of self-deprecation. The main door swung open, and the culprits froze, searching one another's gazes for the plan of action. Connie's back was to the doorway where Jack stood, ranting about the publicity that the Stuber case was accumulating. She mouthed, "What do we do?"

Jack continued to roar with frustration, crossing the room and exiting through the connecting door, apparently unaware of their transgressions. Connie and Mike stared at each other for a moment, and then burst into laughter. She nervously ran her hand through her hair. "That…was close. And_ completely_ stupid. And-…"

"Incredible," Mike negotiated, studying her with penetrating optimism.

"It was," she agreed, infuriated that a smile had overtaken her countenance. She struggled to regain composure and reverence for the seriousness of the situation. She recalled his bygone words, asserting, "but, it was dumb, Mike, and we're not dumb."

She was right. They were in his office at work, and their boss had nearly caught them making out like hormone-laden teenagers. He gave an affirmative, satisfactory nod. "So, then, I guess we'll just see what happens tomorrow… With the case, I mean."

"Yeah... I'll see you in the morning. Good night, Mike."

"'Night."

Connie staggered to her own desk, and he watched in amusement as she shook her head, having a mental argument with herself. He sat in his chair and began absently tossing his baseball back and forth. How the exchange between them had gone from 32° to a boiling point, he wasn't sure; but it didn't feel egregious or unnatural. And, it was undeniable that the attraction was mutual—after all, she had made the first move. It was up to him to either leave well enough alone or take a shot at being the fool who gets his pen mixed up with company ink. This wasn't just _any_ ink, though. This was Connie, and he didn't mind being called dumb and reckless for her.

He'd broken plenty of rules from the Law books. Maybe it was time to break his own.


End file.
